


Little words

by SheeArt



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Episode: s01e03 The Great Game, Hope, Hopeful Ending, Longing, M/M, POV Jim Moriarty, The Pool Scene (Sherlock)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29792655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheeArt/pseuds/SheeArt
Summary: All happened as if following the script that ran in Jim’s head without stopping. It never stopped, never faltered, just adjusted. Over and over and over and Jim knew his mind by now, knew every pattern in this world. Knew how this would end.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Kudos: 8





	Little words

When he said those little words, his confession, he’s been expecting that the detective will understand what he really meant, if he’s as special as everyone claims him to be, as Jim remembered him. He expected his eyes to light up with spark of recognition and excitement and that John will be tempted to do a double take and stare at his best friend with his eyes filled with silent contempt aimed at the criminal behind him. And all that happened, like a script that ran in Jim’s head without stopping. It never stopped, never faltered, just adjusted. Over and over and over and Jim knew his mind by now, knew every pattern in this world. Knew how this would end.

The scent of chlorine is assaulting his senses and for a moment, he sees something floating in the water at the edge of his vision, but he’s focused on the grown-up boy twenty feet away from him, who’s searching Jim's face for all the right clues, just as curious as he has been all those years ago. He tears his eyes away from that sharp gaze because he can feel something dangerously close to hope rising in his chest and why would he do that to himself. When he regains his composure, he smiles like Jim from IT, even if his eyes remain Moriarty. It happens, sometimes, when he doesn’t pay attention, when he shifts between personalities and people like others change clothes, too often.

“No one ever gets to me…”

He doesn’t dare to look at Sherlock until he’s fully in the moment again, which may have taken half a second, but that is enough for the greatest detective London has ever seen. Sherlock silently draws a sharp breath when he realizes what he’s seeing. Jim must muffle a raw sound coming from his throat. They lock gazes again and this time, Jim knows he can’t hide again. He doesn’t want to hide. Because he waited most of his existence for this. Because he’s so tired of nobody seeing him. Because that feeling lingers even when he’s trying to get rid of it. He knows the hoping is foolish, utterly useless and he knows he’s going to learn the hard way that his expectations of connection are too perfect to be possible. He knows the script. But he can’t help himself.

Their shared gaze never wavers when he lets all he is feeling on the surface, when he strips himself of all personas and their little quirks.  
He isn’t quite sure what’s left. He isn’t sure anything is.

For one breath, everything is still. Jim’s gaze flickers down, imprinting the detective’s form to memory.  
Black meets grey again.

“…and no one ever will(?)”


End file.
